


The Bloom and Bruises of Youth

by LadyWynne



Series: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 13:12:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: The Stark children are growing up.  After several years absence, Sandor reappears at Winterfell.





	The Bloom and Bruises of Youth

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extreme AU that follows from my story Innocent Hearts. I imagine Sandor around 14 here and Sansa 11.

Sansa hadn’t seen Sandor in a long time, not since they were playing at pretend tournaments in the godswood.  At first Sansa had asked her septa about him, but she received no answer.  No one seemed willing to talk about her friend.  Sansa still saw his father and brother in the yard occasionally, but she was never able to speak to them.  Eventually, she becomes more and more busy with her lessons and the weeks stretch into years.

Sansa radiates excitement.  It is almost time for the Harvest Feast and all her lord father’s bannermen will be arriving soon.  All the bannermen, and many of their sons and daughters.  As Sansa sews a new dress she plans how she will wear her hair and smiles to herself.  She must look her best.

After an hour or so Sansa reluctantly sets her work aside.  It is time for her lessons with Maester Luwin, as if concentrating on numbers was possible on a day like this!  Nevertheless, a lady shouldn’t be late, so Sansa hurries into the yard.  As she walks she sees Robb, Theon, and Jon moving to greet an arriving party.  Sansa pauses to see who it is.  She doesn’t want to miss anyone important, and besides, it may be her friend Wylla from White Harbor.  As the riders come through the gate she is disappointed, immediately recognizing the Cleganes.  They are easy to identify, being extremely large men, and their sigil of three dogs on a yellow field is distinctive.  Sansa has come to expect that only Lord Clegane and his older son, Gregor, travel.  A question about her long-absent playmate Sandor tickles her mind before being pushed aside.  She learned long ago to stop wondering about him.  Sansa turns to move on, but then a third Clegane rider trots through the gate.  Could it be her old friend? Curious, Sansa moves to the side of the yard to watch.

As the men dismount her brother Robb greets Lord Clegane.  Such duties fall to him increasingly often, with father so busy. Robb welcomes the man formally for such a frequent guest.  Clegane Keep is only a few hours ride and shares a border with Stark lands.  Lord Clegane is often at Winterfell on some business or the other.  As the tall bannerman and his heir dismount and move into the great hall, Sansa notices the reaction of Jon and Theon.  They stood respectfully back until Robb finished his greeting, but they were fidgety and, like Sansa, their eyes were drawn to the third rider.  He has dismounted as well but doesn’t move to follow the other members of House Clegane.  Instead he hesitates and stays turned toward his horse far longer than necessary. 

Robb and Theon exchange a glance. Jon, ever kind, walks over first with a smile, “Sandor, is that you?  We haven’t seen you in an age!”  Jon reaches out to grip the other boy on the shoulder but his hand is roughly shrugged off. 

“Gods, but you’re huge!” Theon grins, “Can’t wait to see you swing that sword.”

Sandor gives no response, fiddling with the buckles on his saddle bags.

“Sandor, don’t you remember us?” Robb asks. “We used to play in the godswood together.”

Sandor does little more than grunt but finally turns around.  The boys take in a collective breath and Sandor quickly looks away again, letting his long dark hair fall forward.  Sansa is shocked and her hand rushes to cover her mouth.  She can see from where she stands against the wall that Sandor’s face is badly scarred.  Half his countenance is obscured by terrible twisting red burns.  It is the most awful thing she has ever seen, and she is thankful Sandor doesn’t see her reaction.  Tears of compassion spring to her eyes and she remembers the boy Sandor, her friend, always sure everyone was included in their games.  Sansa can hardly recognize the man before her, and the scars are only part of it.   Sandor is tense and scowling.  His once innocent grey eyes are wary.

Robb recovers quickly, extending his arm. “Sandor, well met brother, it’s good to see you.” Sandor stiffens even more, and Robb speaks gently, “What happened?  Is this why you haven’t been around?”

Sandor’s eyes snap up like a sprung trap and he slaps the offered arm away. “Of course it’s why I haven’t been around! My lord’s sons want to stare at this bloody face?”  He points up at himself, baring his teeth.  His voice now rough and gravelly.

Theon steps up next to Robb with a stern expression, but it was Jon who spoke first, “Sandor, it doesn’t change anything.  We are friends.” 

“Friends!” Sandor barks a laugh. “I haven’t seen you in years. The Others take your friendship.” He pushes roughly past them, horse in tow.  “The Others take you all.”

As he storms by, Sandor notices Sansa on the other side of the yard for the first time.  He pauses briefly and meets her eyes.  There is a glimpse of something there, perhaps shame?   But, gods forgive her, Sansa has to look away.  The sight of his mangled flesh is too much.  Instantly Sandor ‘s eyes harden and he is gone. 

Sansa stands there a moment more, unshed tears threatening to fall, as her brothers and Theon walk over.

 Theon is livid. “How dare he talk to Robb that way?  He ought to be flogged!”

“Leave him be.” Robb said, taking Sansa’s arm and giving it a squeeze.

“Shame that.” Jon sighed, “maybe he’ll come around.”

“I doubt it.” Robb shakes his head. Sansa continues to stare in the direction Sandor had gone before letting Robb lead her inside.

After that the boys don’t approach Sandor again.  He is sullen and stiff toward them.  The only time any true feeling seems to come out of him is in the training yard, where he excels.  Robb and Jon are excellent swordsmen, their father has seen to that, but they can’t match Sandor’s ferocity and size.  The tall youth seems to find joy in beating all comers into the dirt.

One day, at the end of a particularly brutal session, Theon sits in the mud with a bloody lip. He stands angrily and faces Sandor. “Hells Clegane you are as mean as you are ugly.”

Sandor turns away scowling and Theon gets a wicked grin. “You are as ugly and mean as a hound, smell like one too.  At least a hound gets a bitch. No wench could stomach you though.” Some of the men standing around laugh.  Sandor pivots with a growl and draws back his fist, but the punch doesn’t land.  Instead his arm is caught by a strong hand.  Sandor jerks it free with a roar of rage, but he stills when his eyes meet those of Lord Eddard Stark.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ned’s eyes sweep between Theon and Sandor, taking in Theon’s split lip and Sandor’s barely-contained anger. “The yard is for men training, not boys brawling.”

Neither young man answers and Ned’s face grows stern.

“Tomorrow, you will both be here an hour early. Ser Rodrick will set you your tasks.  Theon, off with you, we will speak later.” Theon stalks from the yard.

“Sandor, your father will hear of this.”

“Yes, my lord,” the young man bows his head briefly.  For a moment Ned’s eyes soften and he steps closer to the sullen youth. “You boys used to be friends, Sandor.  There are still those who would be, if you let them.”

Sandor’s eyes remain fixed on the ground until, finally, Ned turns and moves away.

No one sees Sandor again that day.  Sansa hears all about the incident at dinner and while Arya is keen to hear the details, Sansa just feels her stomach turn.  She pushes the food around her plate, for some reason it no longer holds any appeal. 

“May I be excused?” she politely asks her lady mother.  When Catelyn nods Sansa leaves the hall and heads for the godswood.  She doesn’t really know why her feet lead her there.  She just needs a quiet place, and since the castle is full to bursting the godswood is almost the only one.  As she walks Sansa realizes that some of her enthusiasm for the upcoming feast has dampened.  She can’t muster the excitement to ponder what to wear or who may ask her to dance.  Instead, her mind returns to Sandor.  He was so angry when she saw him, and now a fight in the yard? Yes, he was incredibly rude, but Sansa intuitively senses that he is hurting.  It makes her sad.

As Sansa picks her way through the fallen red leaves she realizes she isn’t alone.  A shape sits beneath the heart tree on a large white root, facing away.  As Sansa approaches she recognizes just the person she has been thinking about, Sandor Clegane.  As she nears Sandor turns his head to see who it is.  He glances at her briefly, but doesn’t say a word, just turns back around.

Sansa hesitates but then moves closer.  “May I sit down?”

“It’s your home. Sit if you like.”

Sansa gracefully lowers herself to sit on the root next to Sandor.

“So, you remember me?” Sansa finally asks. “I’m Sansa.  I was once your Queen of Love of Beauty.” She offers him a small smile.

“Aye, I remember. You were pretty as a little bird with daisies in your hair.” Sandor glances over at her.  “Still are,” he grunts. 

Sansa blushes and tries not to stare at his burns, but she is surprised to find a welt with a large purple bruise blooming around it on his unburnt side.  Sansa is confused, from what she understood he had never actually come to blows with Theon today. She averts her eyes. 

“I heard you had some trouble in the yard today.  Theon has always been a sore loser. Is that what happened here?”  She gestures toward his bruised cheek. 

“Father happened. He can’t have me making a bad impression with Lord Eddard and ruining Gregor’s chances.  My brother is going to be a knight, or hadn’t you heard?  He will be travelling south after the feast, with your father’s blessing, so he can be properly anointed.”

Sansa hadn’t heard, but she isn’t surprised.  She is a good listener, and father thought Lord Clegane overly ambitious, and far too concerned with courtly nonsense to suit a Northman. After an awkward moment, Sansa speaks again.

“I missed you, you know.  I asked everyone what had become of you when you stopped visiting.” Sandor’s face was hidden again by the curtain of his hair.  When he doesn’t respond Sansa gently reaches over and lays her hand on his arm.  He stiffens but doesn’t pull away.

“Father didn’t want the name Clegane tainted by the likes of me.  He hid me away at the Keep.”

“I am so sorry about your accident Sandor.” She nearly whispers. He seems to melt at her kindness, but it is short-lived.  Sandor looks into the trees rather than at her.

“It was no accident.”

Sansa pulls her hand away from his arm in surprise. “No accident?”

“It is a token from my brother.” Sandor looks at her fully for the first time, hatred in his eyes. “You stay far away from Gregor, Sansa.”

Startled, she nods.

Sandor holds her gaze a moment longer before going back to staring into the trees. “Father protected him, told everyone my bedding caught fire. He wants a knight for House Clegane. He won’t let a second son stop it happening.” 

Sansa doesn’t know what to say, such brutality and pain are beyond her experience.  Instead she takes Sandor’s arm and leans her head on his shoulder.  After a while she feels him let out a long breath.  They stay like that until the stars twinkle through the white branches.

Later, when it is time for the harvest guests to depart, Sansa watches from a window as Sandor rides out trailing his kin.


End file.
